The Agent's New Clothes
by aces
Summary: *giggle giggle* If you read the last story I uploaded...quickly read this one and cheer yourself up.


The gods of inspiration for flimsy excuses as plot have been kind to me yet again…I hope. This is purely fantasy-driven, and it's for all of you who are unhappy with Darien's wardrobe—or would just like to see him in different clothes once in a while. Enjoy—I dunno if you'll ever get to see it onscreen, but I'm sure your imagination's up to supplying whatever details you wish…J

THE AGENT'S NEW CLOTHES

"Hobbes," Darien whined.

"_Now_ Fawkes," Hobbes dragged his partner into the building.

"Oh come _on_, Hobbes! It's only for three days—"

"Yeah, and I shoulda done this a _long_ time ago!"

They stopped just inside the door and surveyed the room in front of them. "Hobbes, I don't see why…"

"We're gonna be bodyguarding this senator for three days while he's in town," Hobbes ruthlessly interrupted Darien's grumbling. "We will be with him at all times, including the receptions and dinner parties. You can_not_ go around invisible that whole time. That means nice clothes. That means _no_ flea markets or thrift stores!"

"I _have_ a suit, Hobbes—"

"One." Hobbes cut him off yet again. He waved a salesperson over peremptorily. "_One_ suit. For three days? No. And you don't even have _dress_ shoes! You can't go around wearing sneakers all the time, Fawkes!"

"I _hate_—"

"So does everyone else. Besides, you also need a tux for the two dinner parties—and the suit you have isn't even a _good_ one."

"Hey!"

"Can I help you, sirs?" the man with the subservient manner glided over to join the two government agents.

Hobbes flicked a thumb at his partner. "He needs suits. A tux. Shoes. The works. Now."

The young man in the tasteful suit with an even more tasteful tie surveyed Fawkes's shorts and lightweight blue jacket critically. "Yeees…we'll find him something, I'm sure. Please come with me, sirs."

Hobbes and Fawkes followed the store clerk, Fawkes unwillingly and swearing under his breath the entire time. "At least as a cat burglar I didn't have to get dressed up!" he told Hobbes loudly and angrily. The salesperson's ears perked up, but he showed no other outward sign of interest in his customers' conversation as he led them to the back of the store and the dressing rooms.

"No one cared what you wore as a cat burglar," Hobbes retorted. "But you're not a cat burglar anymore, now are you? You're a respectable member of the community and an employee of the American federal government. It's time you started dressing like it, my friend."

"Since when did I become a respected member of the community?" Fawkes asked blankly.

"Okay, you may have a point there, hotshot. But you're _still_ getting new clothes."

Hobbes found a seat and waited while the salesman patiently went through a variety of shirts, slacks, socks, shoes, blazers, ties, and everything else he and Bobby could think of that Fawkes would need to wear while bodyguarding a U.S. senator. Hobbes could occasionally hear Fawkes's more vociferous complaints, but he ruthlessly kept himself from grinning, let alone laughing, even when he heard an exclaimed, "Not _that!_ Are you crazy?! I wouldn't be caught _dead_ in that!"

Hobbes had read through two papers and a four-month-old magazine by the time Fawkes finally and reluctantly came out of the dressing room. The sales clerk came out proudly behind him, laden down with an almost bewildering variety of clothes. "I must say, sir, suits really do…suit you!" the salesman enthused.

"Shut up," Fawkes grumbled, hand pulling at his collar. He straightened his tie uncomfortably. The suit was black, well cut and understated, the shiny black new shoes polished to perfection.

"You clean up good, partner," Hobbes said, impressed despite himself. Fawkes was trying not to blush, his partner could see. Still Bobby managed to refrain from grinning. He even stopped himself making any smart remarks.

"How the hell're we gonna pay for this?" Fawkes muttered as they trooped over to the nearest counter. He kept fidgeting, playing with a cuff or a pocket or his collar. He really was obviously and acutely uncomfortable in the new clothes. "'Cos I sure as hell can't foot the bill."

"It's covered," Hobbes told him.

"Don't tell me the Agency's paying for it!"

"Maybe the Official is as sick of your Day-Glo orange shirt as I am," Hobbes retorted.

"Hey! I like that shirt!" Fawkes protested, taking the packages the salesman was handing him across the counter.

"It'd be nicer if it at least _fit_ you, Fawkes!"

"You're just jealous 'cos it wouldn't fit you," Fawkes answered.

Hobbes rolled his eyes and grabbed the rest of the packages. "You got a tux, right?"

"Yeah, Hobbes, I did." As they left the store, laden down with new clothes, Fawkes somehow managed to elbow Hobbes in the arm. "Do _you_ have a tux?"

"But of course, Fawkes. _I_ already know how to dress." They dropped the packages off in the back of the van. "We have to meet the senator's plane in an hour; let's get a move on. That took longer than I expected. You're too damned finicky, Fawkes."

"Finicky!" Fawkes hopped into the van as Hobbes started the engine. "Some of the stuff that guy was trying to get me—"

"Whatever. You're just picky."

They drove to the airport, arguing all the way.

* * *

They met the senator with no problems; Darien got into the senator's limo while Hobbes joined the other agents protecting the senator. Darien tried not to fidget uncomfortably in his suit, but it was heavy going. He'd already tried to start a conversation with the senator, but the man wasn't in a very talkative mood.

Darien still didn't know how the hell they'd gotten this job. The guy seemed to have enough protection on his own. Maybe the Official owed him a favor or something. Whatever, if it meant the job was gonna be easy (and it did look that way), then it was fine with Darien. He needed a break.

The two Agency men got a hotel room next door to the senator's for convenience. They then spent the next couple days surreptitiously following the senator around to every party, speech, and social gathering he went. Fawkes only had to go see-through a couple times, but the possible threats turned out not to be so threatening. The second evening, Fawkes had to run back to the Agency to get a shot of counteragent from the Keeper.

Hobbes drove them both to the building, and then he went down to the Keep with Darien. "Hello, Keep," Bobby said.

"Hey, Claire, long time no see," Fawkes said as he swept into the lab.

"Hullo, Darien, Bobby…" The Keeper trailed off as she turned away from one of her animal cages and took in Darien's gray three-piece suit. She blinked. "Darien?" He was standing up straight, unaware of her shock or close inspection of his new clothes.

"Can we hurry this up?" Hobbes said. The Keeper managed to drag her attention away from Darien for a moment and glance at his partner. The older agent was in a tuxedo, white bow tie, cummerbund, and all. He was carrying a large black bag over his shoulder, the kind used for storing suits or dresses so they wouldn't get wrinkled. "We're already running late."

"Yeah." Fawkes looked away from Hobbes and shrugged apologetically at the Keeper. He shrugged off his suit jacket and started unbuttoning his shirt cuff, rolling up his crisp white sleeve. He hopped onto the reclining chair, now wearing only vest and shirtsleeves. He'd already loosened his tie before entering the Keep, and the top two or three buttons of his collar were undone. "We're kinda in a hurry, Keep, so could you give me my shot? And is there anywhere I can change down here?"

"I'm tellin' ya you should've put the tux on in the van," Hobbes grumbled, dropping the large bag onto a table next to where Darien had already thrown his jacket. 

"With you driving?" Fawkes retorted. "I'd break both my legs _and_ my neck!"

Claire finally remembered to get the counteragent and prepare a syringe. She gave Darien his shot and watched him duck around to the other part of the lab, unbuttoning his vest and pulling off his tie as he went to change. She sidled over to Hobbes and said in a rather stunned voice, "Hobbes…how in the world did you get him into a suit? Let alone a tux?"

"With a helluva lot of trouble," Hobbes grumbled, trying not to sound jealous. He hadn't liked how Claire had been studying Fawkes so intently. At least Fawkes was completely unaware of her newly focused attention.

"Dammit," Darien swore as rejoined them. "Hey, Hobbes, help me with this damned bow tie, would you?" He was already in a tuxedo matching Bobby's, the cut of the elegant suit displaying his lanky body to best effect, and his black dress shoes highly polished. Even his hair was behaving itself.

Hobbes stepped up to his partner, slapped Darien's hands out of the way, and fixed the tie for him, then stepped back. "There. Can we _go_ now?"

"Yeah," Fawkes replied. His attention was caught by the Keeper. "Hey, Claire, how do I look?" he asked with a pleased grin, childishly excited at playing dress-up. He held out his arms and circled around so she could see back as well as front. "I feel like a complete idiot in these clothes, but I suppose I can't really go to a fancy dinner party in jeans and a t-shirt."

"Very nice," the Keeper managed to gulp out.

Hobbes looked between the keeper and the kept and scowled, grabbing his partner's sleeve and dragging him out of the lab. "Let's _go_, Fawkes!"

Darien shrugged and waved good-bye to Claire as the lab door slid shut behind them.

Claire finally remembered to breathe. "_Damn_," she whispered to herself. Shaking her head dazedly, she went back to work.

* * *

The senator spent his three days in San Diego without a hitch, and the Agency partners got him safely onto his planet to his next destination.

"That was a nice vacation," Darien grinned to Hobbes as they headed back to the van.

"Yeah, the Official should give us a bonus for handling the job so well," Hobbes answered.

"Like he will!" Darien retorted. He sat back in his seat and sighed, closing his eyes.

Hobbes glanced over at his partner as he drove, noting that Fawkes had stopped adjusting and fidgeting with his clothes a couple days ago. He'd quickly gotten used to the collars and cuffs and ties. Even the shoes. "You should wear suits more often, my friend," Hobbes said, grinning evilly. "They suit you."

Darien snorted. "I am _not_ getting back into one of these damned monkey suits until you have to die again and I have to go to your funeral."

"Oh come on, Darien," Hobbes's grin widened. "Admit it. You like to dress up once in a while."

"Never, my friend," Fawkes answered, pointedly closing his eyes again.

Hobbes let the subject go.

This time.

* * *

The next day the agents went back to the Agency for their next assignment. Hobbes entered the Official's office to find the Fatman himself, as well as Eberts and the Keeper, already there. But no Darien.

Fawkes came slouching in a few minutes later, wearing his tight, almost-radioactively-bright orange shirt and dark gas station attendant jacket. Hobbes groaned. Eberts sighed. The Keeper tried not to look disappointed.

"What?" Darien asked defensively as he slid into his seat. "Oh come _on!_ It's one thing to dress up 'cos I'm hanging with a senator; it's another when I'm just doing my usual job!"

"I'll just have to fake my death again," Hobbes groaned. Fawkes whacked him in the arm.

"Look, this is what I wear," Darien said. "I'm comfortable with this. Deal with it!"

"All right!" The Official intervened before Hobbes could continue arguing—or before the Keeper could get involved, as she looked ready to do. "You can wear whatever you want, Fawkes."

Darien sat back in his chair, a smug grin on his face.

"But…"

Fawkes sat up, frowning in apprehension.

"Would you get rid of that damned orange shirt!"

Fawkes scowled.

Hobbes started laughing.


End file.
